


Sixteen

by daredevilmoon



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: BDSM, Caning, Erotica, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1708052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daredevilmoon/pseuds/daredevilmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He felt a little dizzy for it, his thoughts overwhelmed by the feeling which burned in hot lines across his skin.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sixteen

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Crowbarrow; roleplay. I re-wrote this (5 July) to make it more of a piece rather than a weird kink-gasp of a scene.

The cane gave a sharp crack over Philip's thighs, a clear shock of pain radiating through him at the misdirected hit. He felt a little dizzy for it, his thoughts overwhelmed by the feeling which burned in hot lines across his skin.  
  
"Eleven," he said, anticipating Thomas's next blow; this allowance of proactive words was what gave him any rein whatever.  
  
After the fifth blow their had been a rather protracted pause, wherein he gathered the pieces shattered by the sheer ferocity of the pain and wondered if he could keep on. Yet as the stinging faded, he found he wanted more of the unique breathlessness each blow imparted. He'd never asked such a thing of a lover before and each welt seemed to bury something of Thomas deep within his blood.  
  
At the presentation of the idea, Thomas had given an amused twist of his lips in lieu of response, but his derision dropped once they were poised to put the game into practise. His strokes, while not terrifically well-aimed, landed hard - after the first, Philip wondered what on earth Thomas was thinking of when he'd done it.  
  
It wasn't entirely what Philip had imagined it to be, but he found the pleasure of it once he simply allowed himself the new pain and found he could think of nothing else. It was so clear, a more honest emotion than he remembered having ever had but for quickly-stifled love.  
  
"Twelve," he directed. His body was tensed, but it didn't stop him twisting in pain as the blow landed over an earlier welt; a quiet sound escaped his throat and he buried his head in the crooks of his elbows.  
  
 "Thirteen," he said quickly, bracing himself. His fingers trailed through his hair absently, tightening slightly as the next blow landed, far easier than the one proceeding.  
  
Fifteen had been what had  been agreed upon; Philip remembered distantly once getting a flogging with as many lashes at school, though that was nothing like this. The  boys had supposed the masters the cruellest men alive, but Philip had come to learn that there was none so cruel as a lover.  
  
"Fourteen - ah, _Christ_ ," he moaned, voice cracking as a warm spot blossomed against the side of his arse and a trickle ghosted mid-way down his thigh. He struggled for a moment to catch his breath against the threat of tears which tore at his throat.  
  
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," Thomas teased, though his voice was thick with lust; Philip's prick gave an unbidden twitch to life at the sound. He pressed himself tighter against the desk, his cock caught between the edge and his belly just enough to hurt.  
  
The cane outlined a path along Philip's inner thighs as he willed his thoughts to slow, the path shifting to run along his bollocks. He hoped he wouldn't have to tell Thomas that that was rather a step too far, particularly as he wasn't at all wont to spoil the game which had worked itself to a fever within him.  
  
"Sorry, master - sorry," he managed, his voice choked and odd to his own ears. They hadn't agreed on that and Thomas let out a laugh that was more of an exhalation. A strange feeling that might have been embarrassment wound its way through his belly, but he could place no focus on it - and, regardless, he could hear the desire in Thomas's breaths. "Fifteen."  
  
It caught him again against his thighs and his knees wanted to buckle, though he held himself in much the same position as he slipped down the desk. His breath came in harsh pants as he struggled to compose himself as best he could, at least to swallow down the tears whose threat was abating.  
  
As his breathing slowed, another crack came suddenly against his flesh with a more vicious force than the others - his mouth guttered around a sob and he buried his face in his jacket, allowing it to soak up the tears he no longer had the wherewithal to dam.  
  
"Sixteen for blasphemy," Thomas said from behind him. Philip couldn't move for the moment, nor could he seem to quell the blasted tears now they had begun; he felt as though he were unfurling, in a strange way, losing himself completely.  
  
Thomas came closer, standing directly behind him. He began lightly stroking his fingertips over the welts he'd left, tracing the evening's outlines.  
  
"All right?" He asked, sounding tentative.  
  
Philip didn't quite trust himself to speak, though he found the last sobs drawn from as Thomas moved to hold him about the waist, resting his weight over Philip's back. One of Thomas's hands left his torso to lace his fingers through with Philip's.  
  
The distraction of the pain ebbed some, allowing the mist around his thoughts to clear as his breathing steadied. He marvelled at the strange calm which descended, the way Thomas's heavy heartbeats throbbed in time with his own.  
  
It was a sort of perfection wrought of the strange declaration of love that had passed, more forthright than any words would allow. And though the words seemed superfluous, they said them anyway - the landing of those blows cutting far deeper.


End file.
